


ash on the windowsill

by mandalorianed



Series: chiaroscuro [1]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bat Family, Friendship, Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8189717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandalorianed/pseuds/mandalorianed
Summary: Twelve gargoyles ring Wayne Tower, and their thirteenth brother is hidden, watching the sky.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Time continues to be irreparably broken in the DC universe, and, now that this is slowly turning into a series, time is out of whack here too. This takes place before [“in this twilight,”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7975048) and I’m not gonna try to be any more specific than that. I’m playing fast and loose with a lot of canon, and I feel like this series is starting to take on a life of its own.
> 
> With that being said, Damian’s characterization is pulled from the new52 BATMAN AND ROBIN, and Cassandra’s is inspired by her BATGIRL run, but ends up being mostly from my own head. I’m also sticking with her preboot backstory rather than the one from BATMAN AND ROBIN ETERNAL because I like it better. So sue me.
> 
> Title from “Woman King” by Iron and Wine because I’m incapable of coming up with my own titles. Apologies for any typos.

Wayne Tower lances up towards the moon, dark against the ruddy brown of a cloudy sky that reflects the dull night light of Gotham back down towards its streets. Its dark stone is streaked with thin strips of glass sweeping upwards, windows gleaming in the occasional glimmer of moonlight, until they dead end into the heavy jut of the observation deck, ringed round with twelve gargoyles that sit brooding below the luminous blue clock faces that dominate the crown of the tower. And above them, mostly hidden by the huge Wayne Enterprises logos that stand above the clock faces, the thirteenth gargoyle crouches, wings spread wide.

It’s on this gargoyle, with its cruel beak and its back arched as if in pain, that Damian sits crouched. Eighty floors below him, the last train of the night is pulling into the station that lies under the tower, but up here it’s quiet and clear and a little bit cold. He pulls his hood down further over his forehead and tugs his cape closer around him, refusing to shiver. There’s no stream of mission chatter in his ear, as his comm is lying shattered in the same alley where Drake is currently restraining a pair of the Joker’s idiot minions. Well, most likely by now Father is there, as is the Commissioner, probably congratulating Drake on—

There’s a tap on his shoulder and he almost falls off his perch in shock as he spins around. Cain is smiling at him. She’s crouching on the gargoyle’s neck, leaning back on her heels with knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, ragged cape fluttering in the wind.

“Black Bat,” he says as he sits—sits, not falls, damn it—down on the stone head and crosses his legs. “What do you want.”

Her smile dims a little, but doesn’t disappear, and she mirrors him so that they’re sitting knee to knee.

“You were not—” she pauses, gestures towards her ear. “You were not answering.”

Damian sniffs dismissively, folds his arms across his chest.

“My comm was damaged.”

“How?”

He pursues his lips and considers not answering, but Cain’s expression is guileless and she’s tipped her head slightly to the side, waiting, which is… endearing. But still—

“Why do you ask?”

“Batman,” she answers promptly. “He was… concerned.”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

She frowns slightly at his sour tone and folds her hands. There’s a faint clack as the sharpened fingertips of her gauntlets hit against each other, and she glances down at them.

“I know,” she says finally, gaze slipping off towards the city skyline as she tugs a little bit at one of the dingy bandages she keeps wrapped around her arms. “He does too. But—” She shrugs, looking over again to meet his eyes. “Still worried.”

He tightens his arms across his chest, and there’s a decided scraping noise as his gauntlets drag across his armored tunic.

“If this is because of something _Drake_ said, it’s completely unnecessary.”

But Cain’s head has that curious tilt to it again, and Damian realizes that he’s made a grave tactical error.

“What would Red Robin have said?”

“Nothing,” he bites out.

She frowns, narrows her eyes, and studies him for a few moments. Finally, she speaks, slowly, carefully stringing the words together.

“The smaller one,” she says. “His leg was hurt. Broken. You did that?”

He looks out over the city, watches the slow sweep of light across the water of the bay from a boat heading in towards the docks. It’s answer enough for her.

“What did Red Robin say?” After a long silence, she reaches out and wraps her fingers gently around his wrist, tugging it towards her. “We all need someone to… to stop us, sometimes.”

He keeps his arm tight against his body, and says in clipped tones, “Not Drake.”

“Not all the time,” she says, still refusing to let go of his arm. “But sometimes. He is family.”

“He is not,” Damian says, a scoff roughening his voice.

Cain quirks an eyebrow, and it arches above the edge of her domino.

“If he is not,” she says evenly. “Then I am not.”

Damian gapes at her. “That’s… That’s not—”

“And Nightwing is not.”

“That’s not the same thing,” he finally manages to snap.

She nods. “It is.” And then, before he can interrupt, “You cannot pick. Family just… is.”

Damian’s head snaps to the side, eyes glued to the harbor again, his arm still stiffly folded against his chest. Her fingers finally drop away from his arm, the claws in her gauntlets scraping gently at the armor on his wrists as they do.

“I am sorry that he made you….” There’s a pause, she gestures vaguely with her free hand and frowns slightly, clearly searching for the right word. “Uncomfortable. He is… He does not…. does not understand.”

Damian’s hands clench convulsively, his lip curls in a faint snarl.

“What kind of a pathetic excuse is that.”

Her frown deepens, and her hands fidget slightly in her lap. “It is not an excuse. An explanation… it is an explanation. He expects… more. A higher standard.”

At that, Damian practically bolts up onto his feet, only remaining on the gargoyle because he loses his balance and falls back down, landing heavily on his tailbone. His grimace is half pain, half anger, and he’s yelling now.

“What is it that he expects from me? What pinnacle of— And I— I have followed every rule, I’ve spent the last year ignoring years of my mother’s training, bleeding for this city, for this—” he bites down on his lip, cutting himself off. Then, chest heaving, he spits out, “What more do I have to do to prove that I am my father’s son?”

She very nearly wrings her hands, reaches out, and then, when Damian stiffens, folds her hands in her lap again.

“I am not…” her hands clench, and she finally hisses. “These are the wrong words. Not standard, expectation? He expects more from you to… to make up for the past. He is wrong.”

Now, as if she can’t stop herself, she reaches out again and wraps her fingers around his wrist. He turns his head away.

“He is wrong. We are not our pasts.”

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, and finds that she has peeled off her domino. She has a faint bruise on her cheekbone, rare for her, and her dark eyes are steady as she looks at him. Her grip is strong, and they are not so different. If anyone could understand, he thinks, it would be her.

His eyes slide away from hers again, unable to hold her gaze as he asks, “How did you do it?” Cain lets out a faint questioning noise, and he clarifies. “They’ve forgiven you.”

Her fingers tighten on his arm again, and she answers the question he had wanted to ask, rather than the one he actually had.

“It is not you,” she says. “Red Robin has… hang ups.” Her nose wrinkles slightly as she says it, drawing out “hang ups” as if it is a foreign language before continuing. “That is not your fault. You are more.”

He darts a quick look up at her and sees pity in her eyes—No, not pity. Compassion. Father had taken the Batgirl mantel away from her once. It had been before his time, but Richard had mentioned it once in passing. She had earned it back, though. And he is still sitting here in red and green and yellow.

He loosens his arm from where it’s wrapped tightly around his ribs, lets her tug it down and thread her fingers through his. He still doesn’t look at her, but she shifts forward, nudging him to the side with her hip, so that she can sit on the gargoyle’s head with her legs hanging off the side. She looks out at the water, heels gently tapping against the great stone neck, and her hand is warm even through his glove. After a long moment, he turns so that they’re sitting shoulder, and, as a foghorn rings out, low and far away, they watch the last few boats work their way into the harbor.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, a few content notes:
> 
> 1\. I didn’t like the design of Wayne Tower in the comics, so my Wayne Tower is inspired by [ Abraj Al Bait](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/a7/3a/f4/a73af45cdf3dffbd8e12774df72a4e75.jpg) in Mecca. Take that, but make the back light blue and remove the spire, and you’ve basically got my Wayne Tower.  
> 2\. The gargoyles, however, are canon! They’re just about the only things I took away from the COURT OF OWLS storyline. If you’re not familiar with them, there’s a little bit more info [here.](http://comicvine.gamespot.com/old-wayne-tower/4020-57625/)  
> 3\. I feel like I didn’t entirely do right by Tim here, but I’ll try to do him better justice in another story. The situation here is inspired by, if not completely analogous to, a few scenes from RED ROBIN. I’m not sure of the issue number, but post #8 [at this link](http://comicvine.gamespot.com/tim-drake/4005-9290/forums/what-are-tims-relations-with-his-brothers-577920/) has some scans of what I’m talking about.  
> 4\. This piece was definitely inspired in part by [this](http://damianwaynessketchbook.tumblr.com/post/83774087495) bit of fanart which makes me cry a little every time I see it.
> 
> And I think that’s everything! Next up is maybe Tim, maybe Bruce, maybe just Cassandra and/or Jason again. Who knows, every day is an adventure.


End file.
